FIFTEEN
15
I solde awoke to the sound of church bells ringing.
Given the bright exuberance of the clanging, a couple must be marrying at St. George’s Church this morning.
Sighing, she pulled a pillow over her head, but it was of no use. The noise abraded her nerves. Pushing upright, she noted Tristan’s cold, rumpled side of the bed. She had a vague memory of him kissing her and mentioning a ride in the park. After that, she assumed her husband would continue to investigate the messages from people with supposed knowledge about Ledger.
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to breakfast downstairs this morning. There were still two weeks and counting before the ball, and Isolde intended to spend them avoiding Lady Lavinia as much as possible.
Ringing the bell, she summoned a maid and requested breakfast before relaxing back against her pillows, her eyes closing again.
Isolde roused again at the sharp clack of the shutters opening and the clink of china on a tray. Two maids bustled about the room, pouring hot water into the washstand pitcher and placing a breakfast tray on the bed. The pair bobbed curtsies and left as efficiently as they had arrived.
Shaking her head, Isolde struggled to understand how she could still be so tired. It was as if manacles encircled her wrists and chains anchored her legs.
Strong coffee and a hearty breakfast should help.
Sitting upright, she lifted the silver dome off her breakfast plate. The smell of scrambled eggs and fried sausage filled the air, assaulting her senses and setting her to gagging.
Isolde barely made it to the chamberpot in the corner before purging the meager contents of her stomach.
Swallowing convulsively, she sat on the floor, waiting for the spasms to pass.
Bloody hell.
She didn’t feel ill, per se. No fever or dizziness. Just a queasy stomach that would not settle.
Had Lady Lavinia poisoned her?
Or . . .
In a brilliant flash, all the signs coalesced into a stark, simple possibility.
Her fatigue and nausea. Tristan’s ardent affections since their marriage. And—here she did some quick maths—the glaring fact that her courses should have started over two weeks ago.
She couldn’t be . . .
And so soon . . .
Could she?
Hours later, Isolde accepted a footman’s hand as she stepped from the carriage in front of Gilbert House.
A visit to a physician had confirmed what she already suspected—Isolde, Duchess of Kendall, was in a family way.
Now that she had confirmed the news, Isolde felt like a prize idiot. She was a woman of science. Her physical symptoms over the past week had overwhelmingly pointed to one conclusion. How could she have been such a blind eejit ?
Tristan, she hoped, would be thrilled. After all, he needed a son as soon as possible, if only to demote Cousin Aubrey from his throne of heir apparent.
But worry churned in her stomach. Or rather, her stomach churned, and she feared it was partly from her nervous anxiety—anxiety for the vast unknown she now faced.
She likely should have had the carriage take her straight to the Hadleys’ townhouse. But she couldn’t bear the thought of telling her mother about the pregnancy before her husband. As the babe’s father, Tristan should hear the news first.
Isolde had one foot on the stoop of Gilbert House when the front door opened and an entourage emerged—Cousin Aubrey and Lady Lavinia, the Duchess of Andover, and Allie and Ethan.
All were dressed for walking.
Allie’s eyes lit up when she saw Isolde.
“Duchess!” Her sister-in-law was always careful to refer to Isolde by her title when in public. “You have returned at the perfect moment. Please join us on a stroll through Hyde Park. Cousin Aubrey wishes to explain the engineering marvels of the Serpentine.”
The pleading in Allie’s silver eyes was nearly comical. You cannot leave Ethan and me to fend for ourselves with these idioti !
“Is Kendall not at home?” Isolde asked. Tristan was her first priority.
Allie shook her head. “I’m not sure where my brother went, but he is not here.” Come with us , her eyes continued to shout. “Cousin Aubrey’s treatise promises to be fascinating.”
Isolde doubted that his discussion of hydraulic engineering would be scintillating, or even educational given her own study of the subject, but she could scarcely abandon Allie in her hour of need.
“Of course,” Isolde replied. “I should be delighted.”
Which is how Isolde found herself walking beside Allie across Grosvenor Square and down Brook Street toward Hyde Park.
Ethan, bless him, took on the role of entertaining the Duchess of Andover, walking ahead of Allie and Isolde. As usual, Ethan poured on the charm and soon had the duchess laughing.
“Ethan truly is a national treasure,” Isolde murmured to Allie.
“Indeed, he is.” Allie lifted an eyebrow. “I’m going to tell him you said that.”
“It will go to his head.”
“Absolutely. But it will also make him more likely to run interference like this again. Thank you for joining us, by the way. The duchess refused to accept my demure attempts to avoid this excursion. I think she wished to flirt with Ethan.”
Given the duchess’s bark of laughter, Isolde didn’t doubt it.
“My pleasure,” Isolde replied, taking in a careful, shallow breath and swallowing down the bile climbing her throat.
Now that she knew she was pregnant, everything assaulted her senses—the noise of carriage wheels clattering on the flagstones, the stench of horse manure, the drifting waft of coal smoke.
Isolde pressed a handkerchief to her nose in order to combat it.
When they paused at Park Lane to cross the street into the parkland proper, Allie looked at her with curiosity, gaze dropping to the cloth Isolde religiously breathed through. After a moment of staring, Allie’s eyes went round as saucers.
“I see,” she said in delight, placing a hand on top of the wee swell of her abdomen where her own child grew.
“See what?”
Allie grinned. “ Niente . Merely that I am eager to become an aunt and for my child to have a cousin as a playmate.”
She paused, waiting for a confirmation that Isolde did not give. Tristan still deserved to hear the news before his sister, twins or no.
Allie’s chin lifted in understanding. “I take it my twin does not know yet.”
A break in the traffic permitted their party to cross the street, tiptoeing around manure. Reaching the opposite side, they stepped onto the wide gravel path and strolled into the park. The dimming of noise and the fresh air through the trees eased Isolde’s stomach, allowing her to drop the handkerchief.
“I haven’t spoken to Tristan yet.” Isolde shook her head. “I only realized this morning after he had left for the day.”
Allie leaned in as if to say more, but Lady Lavinia’s strident voice reached them. “Whatever seriousness are you two discussing?”
The woman had paused on the pavement several paces ahead.
“Nothing of import, Lady Lavinia,” Allie called sweetly.
Ethan, the Duchess of Andover, and Cousin Aubrey glanced their way but continued to stroll ahead.
Lady Lavinia, however, waited for Isolde and Allie to catch up to her and then glued herself to Isolde’s side as they walked.
“Well, if it is nothing of import, then pray tell,” Lady Lavinia taunted.
Allie and Isolde exchanged a look.
Allie’s eyes sparked with mischief. “We were merely trying to decide which of our husbands appear to greater advantage in a well-cut coat. As you can imagine, I keep insisting it is my Ethan, but the duchess has been refuting my claim.”
Lady Lavinia’s mouth closed with a snap.
“Kendall is most dashing,” Isolde agreed, “particularly in evening attire. As his twin sister, you must acknowledge as much.” She lifted an eyebrow at Allie.
“He is my brother. I am blind to any physical charms he may possess.”
“And what about my Aubrey?” Lady Lavinia tilted her head.
“What about him?” Allie replied, her words politely inquisitive, as if she couldn’t imagine why a milksop like Aubrey should be placed in the same category as finely-made male specimens such as Ethan Penn-Leith and the Duke of Kendall.
Lady Lavinia soldiered on. “Aubrey was not part of your conjecture?” She looked pointedly ahead to where her husband strolled with Ethan and the duchess.
“Oh! About hydraulic engineering or his . . . physique?” Allie gave Isolde an exaggerated glance of dismay.
“His physique, of course,” Lady Lavinia replied as if Allie were an imbecile. “That is what we are speaking of, is it not?”
“Of . . . course,” Allie said, swallowing at the end. “Uhm . . . Aubrey’s manly . . . appearance.”
Isolde ordered her lips not to smile. It was a difficult task.
Allie said nothing more, appearing lost and unsure. The silence lingered, speaking volumes as to the inadequacies of Lady Lavinia’s choice of husband.
As if on cue, Aubrey squealed like a wee girl and began waving his arms frantically over his head, spinning in a circle.
“Is the bee on me?” he yelped, bouncing from foot to foot on the gravel path. “Can you see it?”
“Gracious. Such panic is hardly warranted,” the Duchess of Andover intoned, stepping out of the way of her son-in-law’s flailing and shooting a telling glance back at her daughter. “’Tis merely an insect.”
Ethan paused and surveyed Cousin Aubrey still swatting at the air. “I believe ye have vanquished the beast, Mr. Gilbert.”
Allie giggled at Isolde’s side.
Fortunately, Isolde still held her handkerchief and could use it to hide her own smile. But given the dagger-sharp glare Lady Lavinia gave her, Isolde doubted the cloth concealed anything.
Nostrils flaring, Lady Lavinia pivoted toward her husband, but as she moved, her shoulder bumped harshly into Isolde’s, sending Isolde stumbling. Only Allie’s strong hand grasping her elbow kept Isolde from pitching head-first onto the gravel path.
“Oops! Pardon me!” Lavinia snipped, not a trace of apology in her tone.
The woman stomped to her husband’s side and grabbed his arm. “I agree with Mr. Penn-Leith, my dear. The bee is gone. Shall we continue on to the Serpentine?” She gave Isolde and Allie another daggerish look over her shoulder. “I, for one, am all anticipation for your discourse on its formation.”
The small group walked quickly on, Ethan offering his arm to the Duchess of Andover.
Allie growled. “ Uffa , but I hate that woman!”
“Aye.” Isolde let her handkerchief drop. “I have rather vivid fantasies of retribution that end in Lady Lavinia on bended knee begging for my forgiveness.”
Allie laughed.
Lavinia whipped her head around to glare at them.
Which, of course, only made Allie laugh harder.
They continued along the path, staying a wee bit behind the rest of their party and Lady Lavinia’s malicious glowers.
The path emerged from trees to the wider open grassy areas that led down to the Serpentine, the large man-made lake in the center of the park. Couples and groups walked the gravel paths, as well as servants rushing to complete tasks. Children with nurses in tow screeched across the lawn, chasing balls and each other, filling the air with shrieks of laughter.
Gracious. Those could be Isolde’s own future children in just a handful of years.
Arriving at the Serpentine, they followed the shore to the cement bulwark at its southern end—the point at which the River Westbourne had been dammed to create the lake. The path continued right onto the top of the dam, the retention wall dropping straight into the water. Children ran about here—some shooting marbles and some playing tag—all under the watchful gaze of nurses and maids. No railing or balustrade separated the path from a perilous drop into the water. A childish tumble could easily turn deadly.
Pausing, they surveyed the expanse of water, Allie and Isolde keeping some space between themselves and Lady Lavinia. Isolde had no desire to experience more of the lady’s vitriol.
Cousin Aubrey, in an attempt to redeem his manhood, explained how the dam had been built. Or rather, shouted his explanation over the crying and laughter of the children.
He carried on for several minutes. “As you can see, the cement poured here provides . . .”
Screams from two boys playing marbles on the level flagstones drowned out the rest of Aubrey’s words.
“. . . and then an outlet was built for the river to flow—”
A particularly loud shout of triumph from a blonde boy interrupted Aubrey’s pontificating.
At that point, the duchess made her impatience known.
“Yes, that is all well and good, I am sure, but my ears grow tired of this mayhem.” She glanced pointedly at the children darting to collect the rolling glass marbles, a nurse bending to help them. “Ah, look. I believe I see an acquaintance. Shall we walk on?”
The duchess pivoted and continued walking without looking to see if they would heed her words.
Ethan lifted a hand to Allie, gesturing for her to join him.
Stifling a smile, Isolde turned to follow.
Two of the children playing tag raced past, causing her to pull up quickly to avoid running into them. Instinctively, she placed herself between the children and the lake.
At the same moment, a pair of hands pushed against her upper spine—hard—sending Isolde pitching toward the water.
Arms windmilling for one breathless second, she teetered on the edge of the dam. And then her body lost its war with gravity, tipping over the edge. Intuitively, Isolde twisted in the air as she fell, anything to avoid hitting the water face first.
This meant she caught Lady Lavinia’s triumphant smirk and a wee boy shouting, “The lady pushed her!”
And then, the cold, dark water of the Serpentine swallowed Isolde whole.